Blood, Sweat, and Italians
by Calamitatum
Summary: Spain decides to drop in on his favorite little Italian for a surprise visit, but instead stumbles upon a rather unexpected and disturbing scene. Blood, long car rides, annoying banter, midnight escapes and madness ensues. Two-shot.
1. Part 1

**AN: Hey, fun fact: this fanfiction was originally going to star America as Spain and England as Romano but I could not, for the life me, properly write lengthy sentences containing English swear words/curses. I mean, you can only say "wanker" and "bloody" so many times, you know? Anyways, **_**please**_** find it within your hearts to review this fanfiction. Don't hold back, I'm serious. Release you inner critic. I feed off of these things, man, I really do. And also, I have your family. **

**Disclaimer: Funny thing. In my last fanfiction, I didn't own Hetalia, which TOTALLY EXPLAINS why I would own it now. **

**Warnings: Language, multiple and rather vivid descriptions of blood along with self-mutilation *drum roll* by a**_**ccident**_**!**

**IMPORTANT: Near the end, I needed an excuse for something and therefore came up with the reasoning that normal, everyday people do not know the identity of the personifications (for safety reasons?). And if a nation, let's say, needed serious medical attention or something, then it would be okay to tell a normal person. But then they'd have to call their boss and tell them, like, "Yo, I told someone." afterwards. Or if they just wanted to tell someone, they have to ask their boss/government first.**

**I would also like to apologize in advance for any spelling mistakes! I AM SO SORRY! I know how much they bother me!**

**Thank you~**

* * *

><p>Simply put, in Antonio Fernandez Carriedo's mind; everything about this morning was perfect. He loved the smell of the crisp, dry summer air. He loved the sounds of the birds chirping out soft melodies in the distance. He loved how the bright foliage, in full bloom this time of year, would rustled calmingly in the summer's morning breeze, ruffling his dark brown curls as he bounced lividly along the old cobblestone street, thoroughly enjoying the perfect weather, the stunning countryside view and the prospect of what awaited him at his final destination.<p>

He had been in downtown Rome since the break of dawn that morning, bustling his way through the tourist-filled streets from flea market to flea market, scouring every shop, art gallery, bakery, _anything _really in search of the perfect gift for his little Roma.

Sighing into the wind as it picked up, shaking the leaves all around him, Antonio smiled to himself as he could just spot the Italian's house in the distance.

_Finally, _the Spaniard sang in his mind. After scheduling a time later that day with the artist for when Lovino's gift would be complete, Antonio had taken an underground metro train to the outskirts of the ancient capitol where a tourist bus had lead him to be the only person getting off in the middle of the countryside village of Abruzzo, and had finally walked from there for what must have been at least twenty minutes now all the way to his precious little tomatoes' house.

He liked to do things like that occasionally, taking the longer way to get somewhere, the one with most stops that allowed you to cross paths with others, total strangers with their own lives and own reasons and own directions. It was like an adventure, Antonio decided. He was going on a mini adventure as opposed to just going the easy way and taking his car.

That, and it had gotten jacked in Rome.

But details would be details and Antonio refused to let such minor casualties ruin his perfect plan for Lovino's birthday this year.

Shaking his head of the thought with a small smile, Antonio refocused his thoughts, wondering if Lovino would even be up by now. It wouldn't do for Antonio to have to break into his house _and_ wake the boy up. _That_ would just piss him off.

Drawing his right hand casually from his jeans pocket he checked the time on his wristwatch. Eleven AM on the dot. Oh, yes, he'd surely be awake by now. In fact, he might even have just begun preparing lunch by now as well.

Which meant pasta.

Who needs cars? This day just kept getting better and better.

Although the date was only June first, still one day away from the actual_ Festa della Repubblica _and both the Italy brother's birthdays, Spain was hell bent on being the first to wish his Romano a happy birthday this year and hell, if had to do it a day early, just to be safe, then so be it.

Closing the rest of the distance between him and his destination quickly, Antonio strode smoothly down the winding dirt driveway that lead up to Romano's impressive, three-story stone farmhouse and hopped up the creaking steps onto the front porch. Being Spain, and thinking it would a completely _brilliant_ idea to just walk on in, Antonio immediately bent down to flip up the corner of the welcome mat and grabbed the key. Classic hiding place as ever.

Unlocking the door and returning the key, Spain turned the handle and pushed the large oak door open with a long but thankfully quiet creak. Poking his head into the house, he peered up and down the brightly-lit entrance. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary and no sign of an adorably angry Italian, he stepped over the threshold, softly closing the door behind him. Standing there, not even bothering to remove his shoes and not having have worn a jacket to remove anyways, the tanned personification made his way across the hall and into the parlor, equally bright for the immense full-length windows which adorned much of the ancient Italian house.

Pausing to take a deep breath through his nose, Antonio's senses were immediately overwhelmed with the mouth-watering scent of, as expected, expertly made pasta wafting in from the kitchen. With a shit-eating grin he slid across the room and paused with his back pressed against the wall and the doorway to the kitchen to his right. Knowing the smaller man refused to disrespect pasta by leaving it to boil alone as if it were the law of the bible, and would therefore be in the kitchen, the Spaniard took a deep breath before spinning through the doorway and announcing at the top of his lungs in his best Italian; _"Buon compleanno, il mio piccolo pomodoro~"_

Chest puffed out, shit-eating grin as shit-eating as ever, and arms raised out in a showy manner, Antonio paused, awaiting the inevitable string of shouts and curses the Italian would surely respond with.

Apparently they were a bit more evitable than he thought as they never actually came.

"Wha…?" Arms falling to his side and face just falling all together, Spain took a step forward, giving the empty kitchen a quick once over.

The first thing Antonio felt upon his failed grand entrance to the kitchen was disappointment, for two reasons. One, Romano was not in the kitchen as Antonio had hoped and expected he would be. And two, the large glass table in the center of the room was completely covered in wrapping paper, with a large cardboard box seated in the center, therefore meaning someone had already sent Lovino a birthday present, it had been opened, and Antonio would not be the first to shower him in love (however unwanted it was claimed to be) and gifts this year.

On the bright side, his disappointment was temporarily lifted for a short moment when he spotted the cause of the delicious smell floating through the air, a stainless-steel pot of noodles boiling away on the stove. Stepping forward Spain hummed thoughtfully, wondering what kind he was making and why on Earth he would have just left it there.

Again, this thought was only temporary because the next thing he felt was absolute confusion, panic and even fear as he began running his eyes along the length of the counter parallel to the opposite wall. He noted an old, musty cookbook laying face-up on the smooth marble surface, a large bowl full of alfredo sauce sitting beside it, a couple of dirtied stirring utensils and finally a wooden chopping board covered in smoothly cut chunks of asparagus, broccoli, smears of blood, cauliflo-

Holy shit.

"_Meirda! _R-Romano!" Spain screamed into the air as he sprang forwards.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, _shitshitshitshitshitshit_. How the hell had he not noticed that first thing when he came in? It was fucking _everywhere_!

Beside the red-soaked wooden cutting board lay a long chef's knife, the sharp side positively dripping with the same grotesque liquid, which was splattered and smeared across the floor and countertop in that same area.

Antonio gasped sharply as shocked green eyes traced a thick trail of splatters and smears across the floor and to the far wall where they disappeared around the corner of the kitchen's second doorway.

From there he wasted no time in sailing across the room, successfully avoiding the mess and slamming his shoulder into the far hallway's wall before straightening himself and following the path of blood down the hall at a sprint, all the while calling out for his Romano.

"Romano! Holy shit, Lovino! What the- Where are you?"

At the other end of the hall, through half-closed bathroom door came sailing a spontaneous bar of soap, hitting the wall with an audible _thump_ and falling to the floor, successfully catching the Spaniard's attention. Antonio was already making for the door in question when he heard the concerningly tearful follow of, "I-I'm in here, bastard!"

"Lovino! Lovino! What ha-" the words died on the tip of his tongue as he roughly threw the door open and came across the scene awaiting him on the once-shinning tiled bathroom floor.

"Oh my God…"

Curled in on himself against the base of the tub, surrounded a mound of red-stained dish and bath towels was an equally red-stained Romano, shuddering, tears streaming freely down a pained-looking face as he clutched his right arm to his chest. Red was everywhere, a shocking contrasted against the light brown and beige that decorated the room. It was splattered over the counter-tops, the walls, the toilet lid, the medicine cabinets and was fully soaking the front of the small Italian's pale blue shirt as he watched Spain, still frozen in shock above him in the doorway, through watery, red-rimmed eyes.

He was crouched down beside him in an instant. "Let me see." he commanded softly, holding out his hands for Romano's own, crudely wrapped, injured one.

"I c-can't... I don't want to... unwrap…" he sniffled loudly, long, pale fingers gripping the soaked towel which swathed his injury.

"You have to let me see it, Lovi." he coaxed gently. "Come on, I need to see how deep it is."

With a loud sniffle, the smaller man re-adjusted himself, turning slowly to face the other as he shakily held out his right hand. With a faked reassuring smile and a small thanks Spain began to unwrap it as carefully and quickly as he dared.

Antonio gave a sharp intake of breath from shock just as Lovino did from pain and their eyes met briefly before the taller of the two quickly flickered back down the large gash running from the base of Romano's thumb across the bottom of the palm and slashing dangerously close to, if not even over top of, a thin blue vein across the wrist.

"What the fuck, Romano?" Spain heard himself breath. "You… You didn't…" his voice trailed off. It almost looked like- no, he couldn't even bring himself to imagine… It looked like he'd… "Romano… What... what have you done to yourself?"

"N-No!" came a shrill cry, panic lacing his voice as the realization of what Spain was thinking dawned on him. "It's not- I didn't cut myself!"

Antonio's brow furrowed.

Romano sniffled, trying and failing to blink away the still streaming tears. "O-Okay, well I-I did, technically, yes. But it was an accident, I s-swear!" his voice cracked slightly as he began to pull the bloodied hand back, throwing the uselessly soaked cloth back around the ugly, weeping, swollen slash.

Spain paused, uncertainty flickering across his tanned features. Still watching him through rapidly blinking eyes, Romano caught this, and with a pleading look pressed on. "I swear," he whispered. "I wouldn't."

"Then what the hell happened?"

"I, _Dio_, I was just ch-chopping celery and I g-got distracted… by the present, God damnit! I know, it stupid, ok-kay? I know!" Romano wailed, now having let go of his makeshift bandages and using his good hand to twist into the fabric of Spain's shirt, pulling him closer while unintentionally smearing it with liquid crimson.

Allowing the weaker man to drag him closer but not wanting to fall on him, the Antonio shot both arms out, his hands bracing himself on the side of the bathtub and entrapping the bloodied Italian beneath him. Whether he even noticed or not, Romano didn't seem to care. His eyes were wide in his panic, still afraid the Spaniard didn't believe him, a few stray tears still shimmering beneath the surface of identical hazel-brown eyes.

_No,_ thought Spain, allowing himself for a moment to get lost in those eyes. _He wouldn't. He's telling the truth._

"Okay," he began softly, breath grazing the other's ear. "I believe you."

Romano let out a shaky sigh, relief clearly visible on his thin features. Then suddenly, as if just noticing their proximity, he flushed, turning his head away to avert his gaze and biting down on his lip. Noticing his hand was still gripping on to the front of the Spaniard's shirt as if it were a lifeline, he released his grip and gave the other's chest as forceful of a push backwards as he could before withdrawing his hand again quickly. Eyes widened when he did, seemingly surprised by the amount of his own blood that stained the palm before he clutched at injury under the fold of towels in attempt to stanch the bleeding once again.

Drawing his thoughts back to the importance of the crisis at hand, Spain asked "How long ago would you say this happened?"

"Uh, I don't know…" he sniffled. "Like eight-ish minutes m-maybe?"

Antonio blinked, "And you haven't called anyone?" he asked in disbelief.

Once again entrapping his lip in-between his teeth Romano mumbled out a weak response. "I d-don't know. I didn't think I had to, so…"

Concern still layering his voice, Antonio leaned in again. "Lovi, people would have come. They do care about you."

"Wha- Well, yeah! Shut up, you stupid bastard! I know that! That's n-not even what I meant at all!" Romano jerked back even further, leaning away from Antonio's warmth and glaring through red-rimmed eyes.

Shaking his head and deciding to ignore the sudden embarrassed outburst, Antonio replied instead with, "We have to get you to a doctor." He began to stand. "Are you okay with staying here while I call an ambulance?"

Romano spluttered, "Wait, no!"

Spain paused, "Lovi?"

"I said no! No way are you calling a- a fucking ambulance for this! And st-stop calling me that gay ass name already!"

"Lo-Romano." Spain coaxed, unbelieving and confused that he would start such a fuss over something like calling 911 for an injury which obviously served for it. "I am getting you to an emergency room and I don't what you say. You're bleeding way too much." This was insane; the boy was literally bleeding _everywhere_, and was obviously in pain. "What if you hit a vein?"

**(AN: Haha. That rhymed.)**

"Come on, Lovino. I'm serious. If it was me, you'd make me go too. So why won't go?"

"S' so stupid… I cut myself chopping celery… That's so unbelievably retarded…"

Antonio paused before once again crouching down beside the smaller man, sensing he truly was in distress about this. "It's not unbelievably retarded, Romano. Nobody's going to think any less of you because you need an ambulance for a cut like th-"

"You're n-not calling an ambulance, God d-damnit! That's just fucking stupid! It's not like I'm going to _die_! It's n-not like I _could_ anyways!"

"Lovino, I don't care! You need help. You're still bleeding everywhere! You're still in a lot of pain! What if you pass out? It doesn't make a diff-"

"So then let me bleed the fuck out! I'm not going to die, okay? We're n-not going t-to- Gah! Why the fuck do I keep stuttering!"

"Probably because you're in pain, you idiot!"

Finally, Romano froze. He was at a total loss for words at having never had heard Antonio raise his voice like that. Sure he'd yelled before, but he'd never been _angry_. Never at him.

"That's it! You win, okay? I won't call a damn ambulance but I _am_ getting you to a hospital. And I do not give a flying fuck how childish you're going to be about it. Now. Get. Up."

Romano blinked as a hand was thrust into his face.

Dazed at the sudden change of atmosphere, he forgot to take it, and the Italian barely had time to think when Antonio gave an exasperated sigh and he suddenly found himself being lifted off the ground, bridal style, and into the muscular arms of one very strong, maybe just maybe _slightly_ attractive Spaniard. He immediately flushed almost as red as the blood seeping down his fingertips.

It definitely didn't help we he suddenly found himself being easily jostled to accommodate the opening of a door. His bedroom door.

"Uh, S-Spain? What- Where are we going?"

The light switch was flickered easily and the otherwise rather bland and depressing room was lit up as he was carried across the floor to the bed.

"Um, Spain?"

When he finally answered, the Spanish nation's voice was low and even, words sharp and tone cold. "You're changing your shirt first. You can't even tell that it's supposed to be blue anymore."

Romano barely had time to register what was said as he was deposited softly on to the bed in a sitting position with his legs hanging over the edge and suddenly warm hands were at his blood-soaked front, expertly unbuttoning the collared, once-blue shit which stuck to his chest disgustingly for the blood it was drenched in.

"Whoa, wait!" his flush deepened and he twisted to the side, wincing at the shot of pain the movement caused from his throbbing hand. "Get your hands off of me, y-you b-bastard! I can do it myself-"

Instantly, Antonio's head snapped up, trapping his gaze with deep green eyes which clearly expelled deadly seriousness. His hands dropped from Romano's front and shot out to his shoulders, effectively grasping and holding the weaker man in place.

"Romano. Shut up."

The Italian's words died in his throat as he instantly found himself lost in the other's eyes, which somehow managed to shine with concern and care but had the kind of look to them that otherwise would have said 'One more word and I'll punch you in the face and do this myself while your unconscious.'

Faster than he would have expected, Romano un-tensed, turning back to front while still averting his eyes and slumping down shyly, body language that spoke clearly, 'I hate this, but I trust you.'

Antonio found his gaze, along with his grip softening as he noted this sudden change of demeanor. With practiced, smooth movements he returned his hands to the half undone buttons and continued where he'd left off. He made no comments, knowing how traumatizing this whole thing must have been for the smaller man and vowing to keep it strictly serious, even as his highly pleasing, thin yet toned torso was revealed.

Just then Antonio sensed the smaller man shift as he raised his good arm. And again, the Spaniard's head snapped up, eyes narrowed and prepared to lash out. Guilt washed over him upon the realization that the arm had only been moved to wipe away at few stray beads of tears running down his narrow face. Romano sniffled loudly, cheeks tinged bright pink at his current position and at seeing Spain watching him.

Cautiously, and almost without thinking, Antonio paused to reach for Romano's wrist. Pulling it away from his face he returned his own hand there and thumbed across the wet skin, catching the last glistening tear just as he did.

The gesture was small, but delivered with nothing but a kind regard for the young Italian's well being, almost as if it were an apology for his earlier anger. They stayed like that; nothing said between them until finally, regretfully, Antonio broke away, pulling his hand back as he stood. He made his way to the impressive wooden wardrobe against the far wall of the room, looking for another shirt. It needed to be something loose and comfortable above all else, he thought to himself. And dark so the inevitable blood stains wouldn't show as well, preferably an article of clothing that Romano maybe didn't care for as much so he wouldn't mind if it became as bad as his now discarded blue collared shirt. But hopefully it wouldn't come to that, hopefully they'd managed to stanch most of the seemingly never ending flow of crimson by now. Which reminded him, they were going to need to change the towels he'd wrapped the wound in before they left, too.

"Okay," he sighed to himself, pulling out the first baggy black T-shirt he found. As it turned out, it was his. He'd probably forgotten it one of the times he'd broken in and slept over. "This one will do."

Moments later, after having sprinted back into the kitchen at the Italian's request to shut off the stove, successfully avoiding the chance of a house fire, and grabbing more towels while he was there, Antonio was carefully leading Romano down the front steps of the porch. One hand was wrapped from behind around his thin waist and the other was supporting his left arm which had been thrown over the back of Spain's neck and shoulders. The injured hand, rinsed and crudely rewrapped in the last of the house's clean dish towels, was held against Lovino's chest as he leaned against the taller Spaniard.

This concerned Antonio more then anything, as the normally prideful Italian was shamelessly leaning his full weight against him, dragging his feet as they walked and not even complaining about the arm around his waist or the hand Antonio has just now rested against his hip. This meant he was weakening, no doubt from blood loss, and probably didn't even have the energy or mind to complain right now. At least he wasn't stuttering and chocking up sobs every second word anymore. But still, this was exactly why Antonio had wanted to call an ambulance first thing. Hell, they'd probably already be here by now, and they'd be able to treat him on the way to the hospital too.

It hurt him to see his little Roma like this. As weird as it was to say, he was seriously missing being called a perverted bastard right about now.

Thankfully, Romano's (obviously Italian) sports car was parked near the top of the driveway and they were almost there. Antonio felt the keys, which he'd grabbed from the decorative bowl in the front hall on their way out, tucked safely in his pocket. Cautiously releasing the hand keeping Romano's own arm around his shoulders and only trusting him to have the strength to keep it there himself for a second, Spain dug around in his jeans pocket for the set of keys and quickly pulled them out before grasping the other's wrist again.

Recognizing his keys and that there was only one car in his driveway, Lovino asked weakly, "Where's yours?"

"My what?" replied Spain, shifting to point his hand in the direction of their ride while he used the little automatic button to mechanically unlock the doors.

"Your car, dumbass."

In truth, Antonio had known exactly what he had meant by "Where's yours?" but was wanting to keep the other alert, and intended to do so by keeping him talking as much as possible for as long as he could.

Popping open the passenger-side door and re-adjusting his grip on Romano's waist, Antonio moved around the side of the car, positioning himself to help Lovino get in.

"I walked." he stated, hoping the other would continue to ask questions.

Just as he did, "From Rome?"

Lowering him into the car, Spain was thankful the other at least had the strength remaining to detach himself from around the Spaniard's neck and push himself up in his seat.

"I took the metro out of Rome, then the bus to the border of Abruzzo and walked from there." Antonio pulled away, watching intently for any more signs of pain as Lovino lifted in his legs into the car and reached for his seatbelt.

"Oh."

Satisfied, he closed the door, jogging around to the front of the car and expertly pushing up from one hand to half jump, half slide across the hood, successfully reaching the other side faster and looking, dare he say, quite cool.

But no time for that.

In seconds he was slamming the driver's door, snapping on his seatbelt and throwing the car into reverse. He paused only to glance over at Romano, stating simply. "Keep talking."

Romano opened his mouth to retort with something snappy, but caught himself just as he was about to.

He just cared, that was all. Spain already knew he wasn't going to die. He just cared.

_He cares about me and just wants to make sure I'm okay. Why should I snap at him for that?_

"Um, o-okay… you idiot." he added the last part with a nervous twitch, internally berating himself. "W-what, uh... What do you want me to talk about?"

Arm around the back of the seat and necked cranned to look out the back window, Spain hit the gas and sent the car screeching backwards out of the driveway. From the corner of his eyes he saw the sudden movement catch the Italian off guard, sending him jerking forwards and nearly bashing his head on the dashboard had his seatbelt not been on.

The unexpected movement caused his arms to shoot out as his whole body jolted, and that movement by itself sent Lovino, much to his embarrassment, gasping out a chocked curse as white-hot pain shot from the gash hidden beneath layers of cloth on his hand.

"Shit! Lovino, sorry!" Antonio froze, stalling the car and hastily apologizing over and over. "I'm so sorry! Shit, are you okay? Want me to take a look?"

Eyes closed, teeth gritted, Romano took a couple of shaky, composing breaths before replying. "No, no. It's-" he swallowed, "It's okay. I'm fine. Just go."

Biting his lip, eyes brimming with nothing but concern, guilt and apprehension, wanting to say more but feeling like he probably shouldn't, Antonio instead turned back to the front of the car. Gripping the wheel so tightly he thought he might actually break it, Spain backed out the rest of the way in slow motion, only speeding up once he had begun the long trip down the winding country road.

After a moment, a weak voice surprised him by saying, "What do you want me to t-talk about, anyways?"

Racking his mind for a quick and easy subject, Antonio shot the first of many worried glances over to the other seat. "Tell me about your day. Everything you've done since this morning."

"Heh. You already know what I did this morning." Romano gave a slight, lazy wave of his injured hand as if to emphasize the point, settling back into his chair and visibly relaxing for the first time since Antonio had found him on the bathroom floor.

_Not relaxing though_, Spain reminded himself. _More like losing consciousness. _

"No, tell me everything. Starting with when you woke up."

"Uh… I had a shower this morning. Right after… right after I got up."

"Okay, good. And?" Antonio pressed.

"Feli called me," he continued, eyes fluttering. "When I had first started lunch. N' was listening to the stupid Volare theme song."

"Who was the package from?" Spain asked at one point, watching Romano from the corner of his eye.

"Hmm?" came the mumbled, questioning voice from across the small space of the car.

"The package on the kitchen table?"

"Oh… France, I think."

And their ride continued like that, Antonio asking questions about Romano's day, making small inquiries here and there and asking how he was feeling at regular intervals. Gradually, as they sped along the roads, getting closer to the city but still much too far for Antonio's comfort, Lovino sank further and further against the door to his side, eyes fighting to stay open and his voice and breaths slowing over time until he finally succumbed, head lolling towards the window as he stopped answering to Antonio all together.

By the time he realized this, they were just entering Rome's borders, the traffic becoming heavier as they went. At the most, they still had ten minutes to go before getting to the hospital.

"Lovi?" he paused, waiting and praying for some kind of reply.

Nothing.

"Lovino? Come on, we're almost there. Please, stay with me. Romano?"

Thankfully, a sudden, long, shaky breath was sucked in followed by a weak clear of the throat. With a concerning amount of effort Lovino managed to turn his neck, dragging his head to the other side just in time for Antonio to see glassy hazel eyes flickering open to reveal red-rims, a shocking contrast against a face Antonio had just noticed was unhealthily pale. "Mmm, Toni?" he slurred.

"What is it, _mi poco de tomate_?"

"I don't… feel so good…"

Antonio gave a small nod, glancing over once again to the slouched form in the seat beside him, flickering from his glazed-over eyes to the almost fully soaked lump of towels covering the wounded hand which rested limply in his lap.

"It'll all be alright, Lovi. I promise. We're almost there, okay?"

"Mm," That was the last sound he managed to get out of the Italian.

From there it was all little more than a blur as Spain instantly felt a rush of determination coursing through him, overwhelming charge for Romano's well-being. Antonio felt as though his life were in his hands. Recklessly zooming through the traffic, he found himself screeching to a stop in the middle of the 'No Parking' zone directly in front of the hospital's entrance mere minutes later. In an instant he was around the car and wasted no time in retching open the door and jolting down just in time to catch the limp frame of the unconscious boy who had been sagged against the previously closed door. Adjusting his grip and pausing just long enough to make sure he wasn't hurting him; Antonio lifted Romano bridal style and held the Italian shamelessly, cradled against his broad chest. Slamming the door with his feet he whirled around and was charging through the (thankfully automatic) hospital in the single blink of an eye.

"He needs a doctor right now!"

_~[x{xXx}x]~  
>*Fancy Page Break*<em>

When Romano finally found the strength buried deep within himself to open his eyes, his first thought was very simply, _Shit, that moron must have stayed here the whole fucking time._

And indeed he was right. For 'that moron' had in fact, been sitting in the exact same spot, at Romano's bedside, for the past three hours since the doctors had let him in. And before the doctors had let him in he had been sitting on the floor just outside of the very same designated recovery room. And before that the floor outside of the operating room where Romano had been stitched up. And before that he'd been nervously pacing the waiting room, signing whatever forms they shoved in his face.

And upon finally seeing the long-awaited movement and hearing the light hitch of breath as tired eyes blinked open, said moron sighed out his very own soft breath of relief, running his free hand through messy dark brown locks as the hand holding the so far unresponsive Italian's tightened.

"Good evening, lovely." he breathed, smiling despite himself.

Romano just continued to blink, blearily taking in the entire scene of the lifeless hospital room he found himself in. When finally he spoke, or more like mumbled, it was oddly enough with, "M' gouv'ment needs t'spend more money makin' theses places more welcoming…"

Casting a quick glance around the room, Antonio really couldn't help but agree.

Then, "You said evenin'." It was a statement.

"_Si_, I did. It's about nine forty-five."

After a long pause, presumably in which Lovino's still rather drugged mind worked to digest this information, the smaller man spoke again. "…Birthday's gun' suck this year."

"Why would say that?"

Romano raised a eyebrow weakly, a movement Spain hadn't even know was possible to do weakly, as if the answer were obvious. "I'm 'unna spend it in a frickin' hos'ital."

Antonio shook his head with the smallest of laughs. "They said we can have you out by noon tomorrow." he offered, although he knew it wasn't much and would still entitle another fifteen hours in the hospital.

Romano shifted, clearing his throat as he attempted to push himself up a bit. "N' just what…" he began to wiggle the finger of his right hand, which had been properly wrapped (finally) and was resting on his stomach, atop the thin sheets covering the rest of his body. "...do you think they're gun' say… when they go t'change the bandages before we go… and they see s' scarred over already. 'Cause I'm willin' to assume you didn't call in for permission from my boss t'give out my iden'ity… for something as stupid as this?"

Oh. Right. That.

Which is exactly why at around ten-thirty, had one of the members of the hospital staff looked out a back window, they would have seen two men, one in fact a patient of theirs who was _still wearing_ the pale blue paper hospital gown, sneaking around the side of the building like a pair of wannabe ninjas.

Said two men, having waited until the anesthetic had fully worn off and decided to hell with Romano's original shirt and pants, had successfully found a first-story window to climb out of.

Feeling kind of cool at their successful escape but knowing they must have looked like idiots, the two silently made the round of the building at a light jog. Up until this point, they had been mostly concealed by the darkness, but now that they had rounded to the front, and with the parking lot ahead of them fully lit by streetlamps, the chances of them being seen had raised.

"Okay, Lovino? Here's the plan. Being dressed as you are, the chances of you being recognized are much higher than mine."

"Right." the Italian nodded in all seriousness, thankful for the heat Italian summers provided even at night, least he be a walking icicle at this point.

"So I'm going to run like hell and grab the car, then swing around front here, where you'll be waiting, and you'll hop in and we'll get the crap out of here."

This, in short, is the story of how said two men managed to successfully break out of a Roman public hospital, sweating and hearts pounding the whole way as if it were their last chance of getting out of life-long prison.

Once they were back in safety of the car and now driving like mad men down the quiet streets of the city's outskirting subdivisions, when their laughter at the pure strangeness of what had just happened had mostly died down, Antonio asked, "Lovi?"

Either forgetting how much he 'hated it' or having given up on trying to get Spain to stop calling him stupid nicknames, Romano answered only with "Uh huh?"

"I was thinking before, when I had to explain to the doctors what had happened…"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I told them it was an accident?" It was a question, the fact of which Romano didn't like.

"Which it _was_, I told you." he answered sharply.

"Right," Antonio was quick to agree. "Well, I told them... And afterwards I was thinking," he paused, beginning to chuckle softly.

"What?"

"Sorry, sorry." he cleared his throat. "I was thinking, what the hell would have had to have been inside that package, to make _you_ of all people, you, the master chef that you are-"

Lovino blushed at the compliment, thankful for the night's darkness to cover his face.

"-_completely_ screw yourself up as insanely as that."

And just as fast the blush was gone.

Spain just continued, eyes still trained on the road before him, lips quirked up in a small smile as if he knew something the Italian didn't. "I mean, I know you said it came from France, right? As in, Francis-France, not just 'from France'."

An eyebrow was raised.

"So, with Francis being just that, _Francis_, I can only imagine," he began to chuckle again, and this time Romano knew why.

The heated blush returned to his shadowed features, but for a completely different reason. Lovino could already sense where this was going next.

"I can only imagine, what might have _possibly_ been _in_ the box." more laughter. "And for you to be distracted enough to do _that_ to yourself… Well, it must have been one of France's more… special gifts, am I right?"

"Well, why the fuck don't you take a guess at 'what might have possibly been in the box'?" Romano imitated him. "You're the professional pedophile after all!" he retorted, succeeding only in making the driver of the car's chuckles turn in to full on bouts of laughter.

Once the laughter died, Antonio, seemingly unfazed by the earlier pedophile comment, began to list off objects one by one, that classic shit-eating grin once again adorning sharp, tanned features.

"Well, there must have been lube. And a vibrator and probably a dildo. And no doubt there were handcuffs too, because really, I mean, he _is_ France. And being exactly that, I'm willing to bet he threw in something weird like some kinda' octopus sex toy, too."

"Oh, God! No, that's just fucked up on so many levels!"

More laughter, "I bet it would be, too!"

"Shut up, asshole!"

"Oh, shit~" he sang. _Sang_. "I wonder what he wrote on the card! Was there a card? I bet it was the most perverted- Oh, I've got to see it!"

"Did I not _just_ tell you to shut up?"

"I bet there was a cute, little maid's dress too! That's classic Francis right there! Was there alcohol, too? Oh, Lovi! Maybe we can have some nice French wine together! While you _wear _the main's dress!" Antonio giggled like an idiot as his mind supplied him with the mental image.

And throughout the length of the drive, as the Spaniard continued to prattle on and on, Lovino suddenly found his eyelids growing rapidly and unexpectedly heavy. Before he even knew it, his head was lolled back, twin hazels fluttering shut for what felt like the hundredth time that day as he sank against the back of the seat.

As distracted as he was, Antonio didn't even notice until the car was pulling up the long driveway, sandy gravel crunching beneath thoroughly used tires. Cutting the engine with a sigh, he removed the keys, pocketing them and turning finally to the sleeping boy beside him.

"Lovi?" sensing no movement he leaned in further. "Romano?"

Not another word was spoken as it dawned on Antonio that the Italian had finally succumbed to the lull of sweet, peaceful sleep. He climbed out of the car, walking around to the other side to once again effortlessly, but with the utmost care, lift the smaller man up into his arms. Only this time there were differences. Big differences.

For one, he was going home, not to some random hospital an hour away. He was also safe and no longer in nearly as much pain. He wasn't crying or covered in his own blood, and he was asleep, not passed out from blood loss or pain.

He was okay. There were both okay. And everything was going to be okay.

And these were the only thoughts he allowed himself to think as he softly tucked the other into bed a few minutes later. It was almost midnight. He'd had a long and stress-filled day and it was his birthday tomorrow. _Let him sleep, _thought Antonio. _Just let him sleep._

But not before he pulled the blankets up over thin shoulders, bending down to brush gorgeous, red-brown bangs, shimmering in the moonlight, from a peaceful, beautiful face and press a soft kiss to warm, still lips.

"Dream of wonderful things for me, okay, Lovino?"

And even after he had left, closing the door behind him with a light c_lick_, Lovino could still feel the desirable sensation of gentle lips against his own. And in the cover of the simple darkness, he smiled to himself, and whispered,

"You too, Toni."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Longest one-shot I've ever had the pleasure of writing! Whoot-whoot! <strong>By the way! Romano's 'brithday' here, is June 2nd, the <em>Festa della Repubblica<em> or Republic Day in Italy. Now, d**epending on the reaction I get I'm thinking I **_**might**_** turn it into a two-shot in which Spain actually gives Romano his present and maybe some others will show up for a bit, too. Not sure yet, though... Mostly, that all depends on you guys! So pretty please **_**tell me**_** what you think. Because you're good people. You right now, the one reading this. You are a good person. And I also have your family. So please review ^_^**


	2. Part 2

**AN: Before I say anything, a huge thank you must be sent out to MelancholyMadness and her friend Dana for helping me get this chapter back after it had mysteriously disappeared off of the face of the internet. I still have absolutely no idea how it happened, but it doesn't matter anymore, because look! It's back! *does happy dance***

**Please R&R to tell me what you think!**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia owns me.**

**Warnings: What do you expect? It **_**is **_**Romano, after all. *Looks over very long list* Well, let's see, shall we? We've got language, alcoholic and sexual references, more language, a bit of violence, even more language, people **_**talking**_** about violence, language, and- oh hey, look here- more language.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>The morning of June 2nd, officially Italy's Festa della Repubblica, found Lovino Vargas finally showing the first signs of rejoining the waking world just as the bedside alarm clock clicked to 9:25AM. The Italian tired shifted, blankets falling from his shoulders as hazel eyes fluttered open. He propped himself up on his left elbow before pushing himself up further in to a sitting position, a movement which required way too much effort from his exhausted body for his liking.<p>

Romano blinked sleepily, squinting into the brilliant sunlight which spilled in through tall windows running parallel to his bed, streaming across the old wooden floorboards and highlighting the bits of dust that drifted lazily through the air. Blankets pooled around his thin waist as he dragged up a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes and the lingering tiredness from his mind.

In the end, the movement of his arm alone was enough to snap him into full focus, as sight of his still heavily bandaged right arm and the small tinge of pain from the motion served to instantly shake him from his tired daze.

Freezing with the hand in question still hovering at eye-level, Romano blinked at it, as if expecting an answer from the question his mind was currently asking.

_The hell?_

Almost as if the arm had actually spoken to him, the sight triggered a sudden onslaught of painful memories from the night before, all beginning with the innocent mistake of choosing to open a parcel from one Francis Bonnefoy while chopping vegetables for an early lunch of delicious linguine. Swearing out loud at the pure thought of how much blood had erupted from his palm and wrist, Romano vaguely wondered how in God's name he had even managed to get to the h-

Oh, right. Antonio.

Oh, shit. Antonio.

That meant the bastard was still in his house somewhere.

Clenching the hand and watching the way the shiny wrappings, which looked almost like a stark white fingerless glove from just over his knuckles to well past his wrist, bended to fit the new form, Romano quickly worked out the mental math of how long the Spaniard had probably been awake and how much of his house the idiot had probably managed to destroy in the allotted time.

Slipping out from the warm bed with a regretful sigh, Lovino trudged across the room, purposely dragging his feet the whole way. Offhandedly, he imagined opening the door to find the hallway ablaze, Spain standing in the middle of it all holding a lighter and a tomato and laughing insanely.

Needless to say, he quickened his pace just a bit.

Reaching for the doorknob with his good hand, the Italian caught a quick flash of himself in the full-length mirror pushed up against the far wall. He paused, drawing his hand back to inspect his reflection and realizing with dread that he was still wearing the baby blue paper gown the escape from the hospital last night had resulted in him bringing home.

After a short internal debate, Lovino decided the state of his house could wait.

He would be damned if he was going anywhere still dressed like this.

~{x[xXx]x}~

A few minutes later, after tossing on an old pair of sweat pants and his favorite green hoodie, Romano was trailing slowly down the ancient creaking stair case that lead down to the floor of his loft-like living-room. Passing under an old, once beautiful but now cracked and rusted stained-glass window near the top of the steps, Romano could already hear the sounds of muffled movement drifting from the kitche. Making his way, for obvious reasons, in the direction of the kitchen, he was pleasantly surprised to find the front hall lacking any and all signs of looking like a bloody massacre had happened there the previous day.

Knowing only he and Spain had been in the house since then, and he hadn't really had time to clean-up after himself (no shit), that could have only meant…  
><em><br>The idiot didn't seriously scrub down the whole fucking place…_

Shaking his head with a sigh of mild irritation, Romano stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the scene before him. What he saw there made him come to a complete stop.

_He did._

The bastard.

The room was almost as spotless as the hall outside, previously crimson stained floors glinting in the reflections of the sunshine that shone through the room from an open window. The counters were void of any of yesterday's dishes, as was the sink. Even the pile of wrapping paper from France's gift that Lovino had left strewn across the table was nowhere to be found, the box itself neatly folded up and placed on the far corner of the table.

From his position in the doorway, Romano could just reach it.

Doing so, he whipped the box as fast and as hard as he could across the room, a smirk on his face as he watched it sail through the open window above the sink and out of his sight.

The sudden movement finally caught the attention of the oblivious Spaniard, who had been kneeled down on his hands and knees, scrubbing diligently at the sides of the bottom pantry doors, which, like everything else in the room had apparently also managed to get bathed in the Italian's blood during his accident.

"Ah, Lovi! You're awake," Antonio smiled. "Happy birthday! How do you feel?" he asked, standing from his earlier position and stretching his back.

Spain was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, jeans and a tightly-fitting top that said something in Spanish about Barcelona's 125th Annual Tomato Harvesting Contest. His hair was unkempt and there were light circles under his normally lively emerald eyes.

Knowing Spain, the idiot had probably been there all night.

"You know you don't have to do that."

Antonio shrugged. "I know."

Crossing his arms and leaning back against the doorframe, Romano spoke in that sarcastic, snide tone he was so well associated with. "Wasn't I the one raised as a slave to be personal cleaning service for you?"

Antonio laughed, turning to rinse the sponge in his hands off under the tap. "Yes, and you were absolutely horrible at it."

Lovino frowned. "Seriously though, you don't have to clean up after my mess."

With his back still turned to him, Antonio spoke, "I know, Lovi. I just couldn't stand seeing so much of it everywhere. Especially knowing it was yours." Then, lowering himself back to the floor to continue the scrubbing of the doors, he added, "I hope you know I'm staying for the rest of the day. I refuse to leave you injured and alone on your birthday, no matter how much you pretend to hate me."

Eyes narrowed, Romano glared daggers in the direction to the back of Spain's head. He vaguely considered the comeback of "Who ever said I was pretending, bastard?" but thought better of it. In all honestly, it was probably the exact reaction Antonio was looking for.

So instead he chose simply to roll his eyes, muttering out a "Do whatever you want, bastard." before turning his own back on the Spaniard and exiting the room without another word.

Unbeknownst to him, said Spaniard was smiling to himself like the entire time.

~{x[xXx]x}~

Making his way back up the stairs, Lovino allowed himself to pause only long enough to angle hatred and disgust towards the ugly crack which ripped its way across the surface of his once-lovely stained-glass window before continuing on his way. Even he was willing to admit, he was in a pretty shitty mood this morning and was probably willing to bitch at anything and everything (see; ugly window) no matter how insignificant it may be.

Still silently fuming at the imperfection, Romano soon found himself standing over his wardrobe and inspecting his sad collection of clothing for something actually suitable as day clothes for both him and Antonio.

But not because he cared about the bastard's comfort or anything like that. The idiot just probably smelled.

Yeah, that's it.

Rummaging around until he'd created two suitable outfits, he threw Antonio's in a pile on the bed and carried his own into the master bathroom. Draping his chosen articles of clothing; a pair of gray boxers, navy blue jeans and a white T-shirt, over an empty towel rack, Romano then peeled off his hoodie and crumpled it into to ball, tossing it to the floor before dropping his pants and boxers and stepped in to the shower.

It wasn't until he was standing there, completely naked, about to turn on the water that Lovino realized his right arm was still completely covered in the bandages. He inspected it for a long moment, wondering if they were water-proof.

_Screw it_, he thought, reaching for the tap anyway.

Simply put, the shower felt like his muscles were getting high. Tense shoulders immediately relaxed, melting into the steam and steady flow of scalding water running down his neck, shoulders and back. All angry thoughts towards the Spaniard in his house, perverted French birthday presents and cracked windows evaporated with a sigh as he began stretching and rolling his neck, wincing slightly at the cracks it gave. After a moment, Romano tilted his wavy brown hair back into the stream and ran nimble fingers through wet locks as he hummed in pure bliss.

Noting that the bandages, as it just so happened, were water-proof after all, Lovino re-opened his eyes and groped around in the shower basket for his two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. Squirting a generous amount into his left palm, Lovino allowed his eyes to flutter shut once again as he began to massage the treatment into his scalp.

It truly was as if he'd died and gone to Heaven.

After ten long, glorious minutes of lathering up his body and then proceeding to stand there limply while the water rinsed it all away, Romano's trip to Heaven came to an end.

Stepping out, fully-clothed, from the steaming bathroom a couple of minutes later, Romano made his way to his dresser and combed through his short hair, finally toweling it all off when he was done. After watching that one stupid curl spring back up into place, he sighed and set his comb down.

Replacing the wet towels with fresh ones and letting the bathroom air out, Lovino eventually found himself making his way slowly back down the stairs to where Spain now sat in the living-room, gazing up at something near the top of the loft, seemingly lost in thought. Stopping at the base of the stairs, Lovino paused before following his gaze all the way up the broken window he so passionately despised.

"Stupid piece of shit," he commented dryly.

From the sofa, Spain blinked, apparently noticing for the first time that Romano had re-entered the room. "Really? Okay, what'd I do this time?"

Romano raised an eyebrow. "Not you, stupid piece of shit. I was talking about the window stupid piece of shit."

Antonio made a thoughtful face and hummed in acknowledgment but chose to say nothing else.

"I got out some new clothes out for you upstairs. They might be a little small though."

Finally, peeling his gaze away from the window, Antonio grinned. "Oh?"

"Yeah, there are clean towels in the bathroom too. So, uh, go take a shower." Lovino rubbed a hand through still damp hair, eyes studying the floor as he spoke.

Standing from his seat on the couch, Antonio smiled."Aw, Lovi, you're so thoughtful! Thank you!"

Romano moved out of the way to allow him passage to the stairs, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. It's just a shower," he mumbled, feeling his face heat up to his personal dismay.

Why did that moron always have to be like that? All it took was for him to set out new clothes or get the shower ready and Spain would start smiling and laughing and thanking Romano as if the Italian had just won the lottery for him. It was so stupid and irritating… and yet Romano still found these little things constantly eliciting blushes and stutters from him, which in turn usually just caused Antonio to smile even more and say something about how 'adorable' he looked.

God, he was such an asshole.

~{x[xXx]x}~

When Antonio returned back down the stairs a little over fifteen minutes later, he found Romano sitting at the kitchen table swirling a small spoon through one of two steaming mugs of coffee he had prepared.

"Here," he said as Antonio approached, pushing the neglected second drink towards him. "I was waiting to make breakfast 'cause I didn't know what you wanted."

"Actually," Spain began, pulling up a chair beside Romano, who just glared as he scooted far closer than need be. "I was thinking – since it's already almost lunch time," he glanced across the room at the wall-mounted clock as if looking for confirmation. "maybe we could just have coffee now and then drive into the city for a big birthday lunch? My treat?"

"Whatever," Lovino waved a hand uncaringly. "As long as this isn't because you've begun to doubt my abilities as a chef?"

"Oh, never!" Antonio gasped in fake hurt. "I would never doubt you, Lovi. In fact, I blame everything intirely on Francis."

"Good, because it was completely his fault and I'm going to kick his sorry ass the next time I see his fugly French face."

"You are just so adorable when you get violent, you know that?"

"Shut the fuck up and finish your coffee."

~{x[xXx]x}~

Romano switched between starring out the passenger-side window and the front windshield as Antonio weaved his Ferrari in and out of the busy traffic crowding the summer streets of Rome.

"Damn tourists," he spat, watching the way the locals were forced to dodge out of the way for the idiot tourists, scurrying along the streets, completely ignoring the traffic, waving their cameras around as if they owned the place.

"But, Lovino, you should be happy! You have such a beautiful country, of course everyone wants to visit this time of the year!" Antonio spoke eagerly from the driver's seat.

"Yeah, but do the resource hogging assholes really have to come on my Republic Day? Look at them, expecting the seas to part just because they're too damn lazy to watch where they're going, the way they expect the world to come to a standstill when they cross my streets," he hissed, craning his neck, to look over the sea of cars and people. "Hey, where are we going anyways?"

"Oh,' Spain laughed. "Well, I was thinking I could drop you off at the really nice little café where they always have those live shows."

"But you can't park on this str- Wait, drop me off?"

"Um, actually, yes." he chuckled again, sounding almost nervous this time. "You see, I had planned on picking up your birthday present yesterday but, obviously, I ended up being a little busy," he stole a quick glance over to Lovino, smiling apologetically. "So anyway, I was hoping you'd be okay with it if I dropped you off and you could get a nice seat on the patio while I drive back to the store and pick it up?" he asked hopefully.

Romano narrowed his eyes, making a thoughtful humming sound.

He was intrigued (and even somewhat excited) as to what it could be, but of course he had absolutely no intention of letting Spain know. Sounding as casually as he could, Romano chose to simply asked, "So you pre-ordered it yesterday?"

"Si."

"And what are gunna' do? Just hide it in the back, I guess?"

"I don't see why not."

"Heh, what the hell? Go for it." Lovino shrugged, reaching for his seatbelt. "Here, pull over. I'll just get out and walk the rest of the way."

"No, I don't mind-"

"Oh, shut up. We're, like, twenty feet away, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine." he huffed.

"Okay," Spain said slowly. "Be careful, then."

"Uh huh." he rolled his eyes.

"Don't get lost."

Really? They were literally three buildings away from the designated restaurant. "I'm not retarded you know." he popped open the door to climb out of the car.

"Don't talk to strangers. But if you do remember to be polite."

"I'm sure. Now be quick about it. I'm hungry and I'm not waiting for long."

Antonio opened his mouth.

Lovino slammed the door in his face.

Turning away, Romano began the short walk to the restaurant, listening behind him for the sound of the car pulling away. He hadn't even taken three when suddenly his cell phone started vibrating. Slightly surprised, Romano slowed his brisk walk, reaching around with his good hand into his right pants pocket and emerging with the small device.

_Incoming Call.  
><em>  
><em>I swear to God, if it's that moron calling to make sure I'm being 'safe'…<em>

Answering with the click of a button, he pressed the phone to his ear, resuming his earlier pace. "Ciao?"

"Fratello~" sang an impossibly cheery voice, causing Romano to wince and pull the phone back a little.

"Happy birthday, Lovino! How are you? What are you doing today? Is Spain with you? Are you guys coming to the party?"

"Whoa, slow down, Veneziano." Lovino frowned. "What are you talking about? What party?"

"The party! We're having it at my house in Bologna, remember? You can make it right? I mean, I know you hate birthday parties because you say I invite my stupid friends and their all idiots and plus nobody likes you anyways but we can pretend it's not a birthday! What if we said it was just a party because parties are nice to have sometimes, right, fratello?" he said in all one breath.

Romano paused for a moment.

Oh_. That_party.

"R-Right, uh, about that…"

Shit, he didn't want to go to a fucking party. And for those exact reasons too. Parties sucked when you hated everyone there and they all hated you.

But still…

It was his baby brother, after all. Plus, it _was_Feliciano's birthday too. And he sounded so excited…

How could he say no to someone like Feliciano?

Well, like this.

"Yeah, I can't make it."

And just because he was a selfish bastard who didn't want to be left alone while everyone else had fun without him, "And Spain can't either."

"…Oh," his brother responded simply, and Romano could just imagine his face falling.

_Aw fuck. He sounds disappointed. Like, really fucking disappointed._

_Oh well._ _Shit happens._

"Yeah, sorry about that, Veneziano. It's Spain's fault, really. He said, um, he said was busy with… aerobics tonight. A-And he really, really doesn't want to be alone. So I thought I'd be the bigger man and do the right thing – despite how much I desperately wish I didn't have to – and stay with him." he paused, mentally congratulating himself on his improvised lie. "He says 'happy birthday' though."

"Oh, well, I guess that's okay then..."

Romano could tell his brother was trying to sound happy for him, to not make him feel bad, but man, was he ever bad at it.

"Tell him I say thank you," the younger Italian added in a poorly constructed cheerful voice.

A twisted, guilty, almost nauseous sort of feeling settled in the pit of Lovino's stomach. He could practically hear the sound of his brother's heart breaking.

But he still wasn't going to change his mind.

"I will. I will make absolute sure to do that for you, Feli. Oh, and by the way, don't call him, okay? He, uh, he said he felt really bad about all of this and told me he'd feel horrible if you ever brought it up ever again. Okay?"

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

"Um, sure?"

"Great. Happy birthday, fratello. Have a good one!"

_You truly are a horrible person, Lovino Vargas._

"You too, Lo-"

Romano pulled away, pressing the end call button and sliding the thin silver device back into his pocket.

_I am such a heartless bastard.  
><em>  
>~{x[xXx]x}~<p>

Less than a half hour later, at around one in the afternoon, both Lovino and Antonio sat parallel to each other at a round glass table piled high with baskets of bread sticks, side salads, an expensive bottle of wine and two identical plates of fettuccine alfredo.

Watching his companion stuffing his face like there was no tomorrow, Antonio smiled. He hadn't sworn at him or violently threatened him since before the waitress had taken their orders. Food always seemed to do that to Romano. He was always so much nicer and just all around more likeable when he was eating, was about to eat, or had been recently feed.

And of course this just added to his never ending adorableness factor.

All in all, so far it had been quite the peaceful, enjoyable meal.

Time to ruin it.

"So what's this I've heard about a party?" Antonio asked suddenly.

Romano nearly choked on his noodles.

After a short coughing fit and a messy swig of wine to wash it down, he cleared his throat, asking as eloquently as ever, "Huh?"

"You see, I was walking around inside the shop and I got a call from your brother, who sounded fairly devastated mind you, telling me he just wanted me to know that it was okay that we didn't come to the party. He said he didn't mind but he wanted me to know that the option was still open in case either of us changed our minds. Oh, and he wished me well with my 'aerobics'."

"The idiot, I _told_him not to call you." Romano swore under his breath.

Antonio gave the Italian a look one might see a disapproving kindergarten teacher give a child who'd just wet themselves.

And it pissed him off. A lot.

"What? I just didn't want to go, okay? Jesus, stop looking at me like that!"

Spain chuckled as he set down his utensils and leaned back into his chair, green eyes roaming over the flushed boy across from him.

"I just didn't want to have to deal with that sh-"

"Yes, but to _lie_?" Antonio interrupted, a poorly hidden smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I mean, to break your poor brother's heart is one thing, but then to lie and say that I cannot attend just because _you_ didn't want _me_ to leave _you_alone," he tsked. "Really, Lovi? Really?"

"Wait a minute!" Romano began, dropping his utensils with a clatter. "That is not why I said-"

"Of course it's not, Lovino." Spain shot, voice dripping with sarcasm. With a deviously smug gleam in his eyes, he leaned forward, successfully intensifying the moment. "But did you ever stop to think that maybe I _wanted_to go? Or were you too busy thinking about yourself to consider my feelings? Or Veneziano's for that matter?"

The other could do little more than splutter, and he knew he had been caught red-handed. Face flushing bright red with embarrassment or anger or both, he scrambled uselessly to regain some of his lost pride. "W-Well, I… No, I didn't but-"

He was cut off yet again, only this time but Spain's laughter.

Antonio just found is so absolutely adorable when Lovino was embarrassed or upset.

"Wh-What the fuck are you laughing at?"

"Oh, Lovi~" Spain managed between breaths. "You are so cute! You shoulder see your face!"

Romano scowled, feeling like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "Shut up. Just shut up."

Wiping a few stray tears from the corners of his eyes, Antonio's laughter finally died down. "Aw, Lovi~. I would never get mad at you."

"Go die."

"Besides, now we can go to Veneziano's party together!"

Romano snuffed, "I'm not going." he stated matter-of-factly.

From his across the table, Antonio cleared a small space in front of him, lacing his hands together and propping the elbows up in front of him. "Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. "This isn't going to be like when I tried to call the ambulance again, is it? Or am I going to have to wait until you've passed out on me before I can drag you off?"

"I'm serious, Antonio."

"Why? Why don't you want to go? It's _your_ birthday too! You should _want_a party!"

"Yeah, but the party's only for Feliciano. Besides, it's not like anyone other than you two even want me there…" Lovino's voice trailed as he looked down.

"That's not true! You have lots of friends!"

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes. "I'm so sure." he shifted, picking up his glass and swirling the deep red liquid around the cup. "Anyways that doesn't matter. I'm still not going."

"Oh, come on!"

"I said no, bastard!" he raised his voice, slamming the glass back down onto the table. "Besides, I legitimately think that if I am forced to be in the same room as that perverted French asshole for more than three seconds that I am actually going to rip off his head and shit down his throat!"

"Mmeh."

"What the fuck do you mean 'Mmeh'?"

"I mean 'Mmeh' as in 'you're going'."

"Oh, really? Well, 'Mmeh' as in 'fuck you'."

"Now, now, Lovi. We are in a public place."

"Up yours!"

Antonio's hands dropped as he tipped his head back and laughed whole-heartedly.

"What the hell are you laughing about? I'm not going!"

"We'll see~"

"I'm not!"

They were.

They were going. And how the _fuck _Antonio had managed to do it was still completely beyond him. But less than twenty minutes later they were back in the Italian's car and well on their way to Veneziano's summer home in Bologna, Antonio at the wheel while the later sat hunched and fuming silently in the passenger seat, occasionally flipping off any pedestrians who dared give him funny look.

With the over-excited Spaniard at the wheel, they arrived all too soon.

Finally pulling in to the driveway, Antonio hummed happily, cutting the engine and immediately reaching for the door.

"Shit! Wait!" Romano cried suddenly, his panicked voice cutting through the suddenly still air. "I can't go in there!"

"Come on, Lovi." Spain whined, hand still hovering on the door handle. "Don't start this up again. We're already here, it's too late now."

"No! I'm serious! My arm, you bastard! They're all going to see it and get the totally wrong idea!"

Antonio blinked.

"They'll think I'm insane!"

Antonio blinked again. _As if they don't already?_

"They'll think I'm fucking suicidal or something!"

"…Then tell them you're not." Antonio deadpanned, as if it were just _that_obvious.

"But then they'll make fun of me!"

Antonio sighed. "I think I saw a jacket in the back?" he finally suggested. As cute as it was when Romano got all nervous and flustered, he didn't seriously want to make the poor boy suffer any longer then he had to. "I can go grab it if you want? To at least cover the arm?"

"Fuck yes." he replied in desperate seriousness.

A few short moments later, the two stood, basked in the dim light of Feliciano's porch, walking the final steps to the door as Lovino nervously tugged on the right sleeve of the thin leather jacket Antonio had fished out of the back for him. He bit his lip, examining himself as best he could. He hated the useless zippers and studded button that decorated the back and sleeves, but had to admit he was thankful it had been there, as the sleeves went just to the tip of his knuckles, successfully hiding the evidence of his accident.

He would be fine, as long as he kept his arms at his sides and didn't go waving them around like an idiot.

Which he didn't plan to. In fact, he didn't plan to spend much time here at all. He was going to walk in, wish his brother a happy birthday, ignore everyone else, maybe eat some food, and leave. In that order.

Unfortunately, the night didn't exactly work out like that.

Just getting in to the house was an adventure all on its own. With a startled German having answered the door when Spain rang, only to get shoved out of the way by a tearfully overjoyed Italian who instantly hit his newest guests with an onslaught of hugs and "Ve~"s and telling them over and over how happy he was they could make it. They were then latched onto and practically dragged over the threshold and into Veneziano's summer home.

"Ve~ This is so great, Romano and Spain-nii! I didn't think you'd be able to make it but you did and- Oh! Romano! For dinner we're making fetticcine alfredo because I know it's your favorite and even though I wasn't sure you'd be coming I decided to make it anyways and th-"

"I already had fettuccine alfredo for lunch." Lovino muttered under his breath.

"Be nice," Spain cautioned teasingly. "What Romano means to say, Feli is thank you. He's just in a grumpy mood right now." he said the last part under his breath, as if meant to be a secret shared between just him and the younger Italian.

It resulted in a small laugh from said younger Italian and a wave of silent death-threats being beamed at him from the very pissed-off older one.

Feliciano finally released them upon entering a living room much like Lovino's own.

Lovino starred, looking around and taking in the scene of the loud, sweaty, over-crowded, bustling room.

Standing in one corner, glancing judgingly over the table of refreshments was Aristocratic Bastard, accompanied by his ever-present She-Bastard who was yammering away about something or other. Potato Bastard A and Potato Bastard B stood together, the later with his arm slung over a nervous looking Hamburg- Wait a minute.

Romano frowned. No, that wasn't right. Hamburger Bastard was on the opposite side of the room, looking like he was annoying the hell (no surprise) out of Tea Bag Bastard.

Well then who the fuck was that with Potato Bastard B? He sure _looked_like the Hamburger Bastard, albeit maybe a little transparent.

Fucking weird.

Romano shrugged, deciding he'd just call him Nobody Bastard.

Also amongst the crowd stood Perverted Rapist Bastard and Cat-Loving Bastard, looking bored and leaning heavily on the Quiet Asian Bastard who was trying to support both of their weights while having a conversation with the Ponytailed Asian Bastard

And then there was the Fucking-Makes-You-Piss-Your Pants-With-How-Fucking-Scary-And-Intimidating-He-Is Bastard, standing there alone and freakish-looking in the corner of the room watching everyone like a hawk, smiling creepily while a cloud of dark aura floated over him the whole time.

Romano shivered, and out of the corner of his eye he swore he saw the freak's smile widen.

Edging away from said corner quickly, he turned his attention warily back to the crowd. He looked them over once again, naming them off in his head.

Damn. That was a lot of people he hated.

And _of course_ Antonio would up and _ditch him_almost right away, making for the Albino and the Sex Addict while snatching a drink off of the table as he went.

"Be right back," he called over his shoulder, still smiling.

_Well, thanks a fucking lot._

Nibbling on his lip off-handedly, Romano rocked back on his heels, lacing his hand behind him and scanning the crowd again.

Yep, he definitely still hated all of them.

From somewhere off to his left, he heard a distinctive "Ve~"

_Shit, now I have no choice but to spend time with my brother._

Forcing an almost painfully fake smile to his face, Lovino followed the sound, approaching his younger brother. "Hey, Feli? Happy birthday, by the way."

Feliciano turned, a genuine smile lightening up his face the instant he saw who it was.

"Ve~ Thank you, Romano! You too!"

"So…" Romano trailed.

"So," Veneziano agreed.

Without thinking, he said the first thing that came to mind. "So, what are all these bastards doing here anyways?

"Eh?"

"You know?" he turned, gesturing out in general, sweeping his left hand out in indication to basically the whole crowd. "Them. I mean, you didn't actually invite them to come, right? Because most of them aren't even really your friends as far as I know. And they're all idiots."

"Oh, well, I told everyone they were welcomed to come. Besides, we're all friends here, right Lovi?"

Romano gave a short laugh. "Pfft. No."

From a little ways away, having heard the whole conversation, England called out "Good to see you too, Romano," his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

Not missing a beat, Lovino called back in an equally sarcastic cheer. "Yeah! Glad you're doing well, Dumbledore!" which elected a glare from the Englishman and full out laugh from the American standing beside him.

"Hahaha! Good one, Italian dude!"

"Thanks, Big Mac!"

"Haha! I get it! Big Mac! 'Cuz I'm always eating burgers, am I right?"

"Spot on!"

Romano wondered if the American knew he was being made fun of.

"Wow, Lovino! You're making friends already!" Veneziano beamed at his brother.

Romano rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever you say."

~{x[xXx]x}~

A good half-hour later and Romano was wandering aimlessly through the crowded house, having hung around his brother for a while until he'd started for Potato Bastard A, at which point he'd ditched, raided the snack table, and glared silent death threats from across the room at Spain, who was still chatting avidly with his dipshit friends.

Which is how he ended up on the second floor, drink in hand as he explored the empty halls, remembering all the summers he used to spend here with his brother.

Sifting through an old bookshelf in the dim hallway light, Romano suppressed a groan.

_God, this is so boring. I'm at a fucking party and I'm looking at old fucking books.  
><em>  
>"Maybe I should go back downstairs…" he sighed out loud, wondering if that clueless Spanish bastard would be looking for him by now.<p>

_God, I am so pathetic. I'm at a fucking party and I'm whining like a bitch because I don't have any friends._

With nothing but his thoughts for company, Lovino slowly made his way back down the hall, heading for the landing at the other end.

Suddenly, even his own _thoughts _evaded him as they were interrupted by a very loud, very long, very breathless moan.

Freeze.

Holding his breath, Romano's head turned in slow motion a fraction to the right, eyes impossibly wide as he honed in on the door from which the noise had come from.  
><em><br>Hold your shit right there._

On the other side, he could hear the telltale protesting of an old bed frame.

Creeeeak, creeeeak, creeeeak, creeeeeeeeeeeeak.

Moan.

_Hold your fucking shit right fucking there._

Taking the smallest of steps to the right, Romano cocked his head, leaning in until his ear was hovering just over the wooden barrier.

One thought reverberated through his head, echoing his worst nightmares to him over and over again.  
><em><br>Does. It. Sound. Like. Veneziano._

And there it was again, louder this time now that he was right up against the door.

"Nnnnggrrhh… Al… Oh, Alfred… Ohhh…"

…

…

…

…

…

Well, that answered that question.

...

Time to go, then.

~{x[xXx]x}~

After his very_ interesting _adventure in the upstairs hallway, Romano had taken to returning to the first floor as fast as his feet could possibly carry him. He grabbed a refill of whatever it was he had been drinking all night, snatched up a cooking magazine from the kitchen counter and tried his very best to the horrible mental picture from his poor mind. He situated himself on the large beige armchair in the corner of the room, kicking up his feet and deciding to busy himself with reading until which point Antonio finally detached himself from the idiots he called his friends and they could finally leave.

But not before he gave that sorry son of bitch a verbal berating so bad his own citizens would still feel it the next morning.

Unfortunately, when the Spaniard finally broke away from his friends, he had other plans in mind.

Spotting his earlier companion deeply concentrated on some sort of magazine, he hurried over to his side. "Lovi~ There you are! Hey, do you want to-

"No." Romano replied without even so much as flickering his eyes towards the Spaniard standing over him.

"Hmm?" Spain's face fell slightly, but he quickly brushed it off. Trying to lighten the mood, he jokingly asked, "What's the matter? Are you not having fun?"

"No." the Italian replied in the same flat voice, still not having moved an inch.

"Oh," his voice dropped, worry crossing his features. "Why not?"

Finally tearing his eyes away from the page, Lovino lifted his head and with every ounce of willpower within his body, shot the Spaniard the dirtiest, most hate filled glare he could possibly manage.

If looks could kill.

Antonio swallowed, rubbing nervously at the back of his head as he squirmed under the other's intense glare.  
><em><br>Die, die, die, die, die, die, die._

"Oh, well let me just see." Lovino began suddenly, slamming his magazine down on the table beside him, venom layering his words. "First," he counted it off on his finger. "-you drag me to this dumbass party. Second, three seconds into it you up and ditch me for those morons-" he gestured across the floor to Prussia and France, who sat like assholes from their position across the room, watching the conversation with wide eyes and loving the way Antonio was getting berated by the smaller man. "-and leave me all by myself and stuck in this shit hole." he clenched his fists, raising his voice even more. "You'd better feel damn lucky I didn't have the fucking keys or you'd be walking your sorry ass all the way back to the motherfucking country of passion tonight."

"Wow. I... uh, I'm sorry Lovino. I didn't know it would upset you so much, really… I just thought you would talk with your brother for a bit, maybe."

"Yeah, but not for an hour, you lardass!" he screamed, springing to his feet. "There's only so many 'Ve~'s a man can take before he feels the overpowering urge to shove his fist down someone's throat!"

Spain flinched as Romano demonstrated with his fist and an invisible throat, which supposedly belonged to Feliciano but could have also very well been his.

"You're right, I shouldn't have left you." he admitted, crestfallen. "I'm sorry, Romano. I promise to be all yours for the rest of the night."

Lovino blushed bright red, spluttering uselessly. "God, no, you fucking imbecile! That's not what I meant!"

Thankfully, the outcome of World War Three was once again averted as the conversation was further disrupted by an annoyingly energetic voice calling out "Ve~ Dinner's ready! Everybody out on the patio!"

~{x[xXx]x}~

Dinner was a disastrous mix of rice balls, Greek salad, baked potatoes, hamburgers, beer, wine, vodka, and finally, as promised, fettuccine alfredo. The meal was set out as best as could be done on four small glass tables, which had all been pushed together to create one large table for them all to sit at.

Throughout the meal – which was filled with the clicking of cutlery against china **(The plates, not the dude. Because, you know, they'd totally go around clicking their forks against the side of Yao's head.)**and animated conversations – Romano, who was situated between Spain and Quiet Asian Bastard, took the liberty of once again scanning the faces squished around the over-crowded makeshift table. He was surprised to see them all there, and allowed his eyes to linger suspiciously on the two blondes seated side-by-side on the opposite side of the table.

Hadn't they _just_been…?

Damn, they sure cleaned up fast.

After dinner, most of the guests moved back inside, leaving space for anyone who cared enough to clean up after their mess.

Which is how Antonio managed to rope Lovino into helping clear off the table, along with Feliciano and Ludwig.

Which is how he and Germany of all fucking people ended up collecting dishes off the table while Veneziano and Spain stacked the chairs away in the back shed.

Which is how he ended up reaching for the same dish as Ludwig at the same time.

Which is how the sleeve on his right arm, riding up just as he did so, revealed the fully wrapped palm and wrist.

Which is how their fingertips brushed, Romano pulling back instantly, letting the pile of plates in his other arm clatter back onto the table.

In reality, it was his sudden reaction to their hands touching more than anything that shocked Ludwig. And so, hand still hovering at where the two personification's skins had met; he glanced up, casting a questioning look to the smaller man.

However, things played out slightly differently in Romano's mind. To him, the confused look the German had given him had appeared as one of shell-shocked disgust at the false realization he must come to about Romano's accident. And so, face flushing bright red, the Italian exploded into a babbling rant of, "I-I-It's not like that! It wasn't- I didn't cut- It was an accident!"

At this point, having absolutely no idea what the hell Romano was talking about, Germany's brow had furrowed in a confused sort of concern. He opened his mouth to speak-

" Just- I- Shut up! Don't you dare say anything to anyone! And it wasn't even- I'm not some overemotional suicidal little- I DON'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN MYSLEF TO YOU!"

He whirled around; chest heaving and red faced, still muttering curses under his breath as he stormed across the patio, disappearing with a loud slam of the backdoor into the house once again.

Ludwig blinked.

~{x[xXx]x}~

Not one minute, not one Godforsaken minute had he been away from the potato sucking vomitous mass, then his ass of a brother just _had_to show up.

"Fuck off." Romano didn't even so much as turn his head as the other approached him. He had stormed into the kitchen, which up until now had been void of the large crowd which busied the living room, lounge and halls, and although he had his back turned to the door, he could practically taste the stupid that rolled off of him and floated into the air as the albino entered the room.

That, and he absolutely _reeked_of alcohol.

"Ouch, ya' didn't even give me time to declare my awesome entrance. That hurt."

"I hope it bleeds."

"Shit, man. How long s'it been since y'got laaaaiiiiiid~?" Gilbert slurred, leaning up against the counter directly beside Romano.

"I'm _really _not in the mood right now, Prussia."

"I wasn't offering." he replied smugly.

Romano glowered.

Suddenly, Gilbert began snickering, which finally did manage to get a reaction out of the Italian. He slid away a bit, eyes narrowing. "The fuck is your problem?" he spat through gritted teeth.

"I was just thinking, on the subject of you getting' laid, I'd have thought Toni woulda' put Francis' little gift to use already, hm? I mean, who knew the big guy'd gone soft." he laughed again, swaying on the spot.

"Wh-What are you talking about?"

"Kesesese! Aww, don't play dumb with me, Lovi," he hiccupped. "Franny told me all about his birthday present to you!"

"Shut up!" much to his embarrassment, Romano was blushing again. "I'm going to kill that pervert!"

"Kesesese~ I think I laughed the most-" he hiccupped again. "-when he told me 'bout your dress." Prussia smirked, trying to suppress more drunken giggles. "Oh~ I bet Toni'd just love to see that! I'm legit, it'd get 'em so fuckin' horny."

Suddenly, Gilbert blinked, face sobering as if he'd just come to a serious realization. "Hey, you ever notice how serious that guy gets when he's horny? Like, he gets all intense and intimidating and-"

At this point, Romano had turned a shade of red so bright it was not yet known to mankind. " You see those steak knives over there, Prussia?"

"I'mma let you in on a little secret, though. For real, man."

"I could reach them from here you know."

"Antonio actually digs dirty dress-up. I'm so serious, like you don't even know. If you ever really wanna' get 'em hot, all you gotta' do is-"

"I bet I could make it look like an accident. They'd believe me."

Suddenly, the Prussian gasped. "No! You know what would actually be so awesome? Like, almost as awesome as me? If you got _Antonio_ to wear the dress! That would actually be _the shit_!"

"Or I could always just hide the evidence. Nobody sees, nobody knows."

"Whoa! I can already imagine it! Oh! And you should take- you should send me pictures too, 'kay?"

"I am honestly considering amputating your dick right now and shoving it down your throat. Then while you digest your own dick, I'm thinking I'm going to cut off your feet and use them to kick your sorry ass all the way back to Germany or Prussia or wherever the fuck it is you come from now."

"Wow. You are no fun at all, you know that, kid?"

"I might shit in your eyes, too. Just for good measure."

"I honestly don't know what he sees in you, but Toni's sure got some weird-ass fucking taste in men. I mean, at least Mattie lets me-"

Romano spluttered, whirling around to face the albino. "Hold on a fucking second!" he choked, voice cracking. "What are you talking about? Taste? What taste? Just what the fuck are you implying?"

"-to him while he's-"

"If you're trying to… to s-suggest that me and that fucking imbecile are anything- anything at all, like… like a…a c-coup- gah!"

"-and on good nights he even let's my-"

"B-Because we are not- I repeat, are NOT 'together' in any way shape or form!"

"-it was so funny though when his brother walked in while I was all the way up his-"

"I don't even know why you would think that I wanted to see him in a dress! Because let me just tell you, I DO NOT!"

And of course, of-fucking-course, as fate would only have it, "Sounds like quite the lively conversation you two are having in here, eh boys?"

Antonio walked in.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ANTONIO! I DO NOT NOW, NOR WILL I EVER, WANT TO SEE YOU IN A DRESS!"

Lovino stormed out.

With a look of priceless, utmost confusion, the Spaniard glanced desperately to his drunken friend for help.

"Umm…?"

"You don't wanna' know."

"…"

"…"

"Should I, uh…?"

"Go after him?" Prussia paused, taking his longtime friend by the shoulders, managing to see through his drunken haze for one intense moment. "My friend, I will pray for you."

Antonio nodded, in determined understanding as he clasped Gilbert's back and turned, marching out of the kitchen.

~{x[xXx]x}~

It didn't take long for Spain to find him, as Romano had gone to the closest and most empty part of the house. The back patio, now cleared off from dinner, held only the raging Italian who was standing with his back to the house, leaning against the table's side as he gazed out over the dark night.

As if approaching a wild animal, Spain was cautious and slow, making no sudden movements.

"Hey, Lovi?" he called softly once he had gotten close enough.

With a small jolt, Romano whipped his head around, expression immediately hardening when he spotted Antonio.

"What the fuck do you want?" he seethed.

Antonio, recognizing that he still had all his limbs, took that as a good sign, and gave himself permission to move closer. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You sounded pretty upset back there."

"Yeah, thanks to you, asshole."

"Me?"

"Yes you! This is exactly why I didn't want to come to this damn party in the first place! So I didn't have to deal with stupid fucks like that potato-sucking nationless albino freak and his even stupider fuck of a brother who saw my fucking hand and now thinks I'm some kind of emotionally unstable, suicidal psycho! So thanks! Really, thank the fuck out of you, Spain, for dragging my ass all the way across the fucking country for this failure of a birthday! Thanks!" Lovino's voice was practically dripping with sarcasm.

"… I'm sorry, Lovino. I'm really, really sorry." Spain whispered, sounding honestly upset.

Romano just glared.

"Gil's kind of an ass sometimes, isn't he?"

Romano just glared.

"So… Do I want to know what you two were talking about, or…?

"No. No, you really don't."

Spain hummed in agreement, knowing the Italian would spill the theoretical beans in the end, but deciding not to push it. Instead, he slid just a bit closer, now sitting up against the side of the table as well. The two sat like that, side-by-side in heavy silence, the night's cool air seeping around them for a good five minutes.

Eventually, Romano sighed. "The moron found out about France's gift."

"Ahh…"

"Heh, that wasn't the half of it. He was… He was talking about how… you could use the dress… and, you know…"

"Oh, so there _was_a dress?"

"Amongst many other things I will never be able to unsee, yes."

Spain nodded. "Alright. The screaming about not wanting to see me in a dress makes much more sense now. I can see why you felt the need to storm out, then."

Romano let out a dry laugh. "Oh, don't even get me started. There's more than that."

Interested, Spain raised his eyebrows, using the opportunity to slide a bit closer again.

Lovino continued. "First off, the retard was… well, he, uh, he seemed to think that… you… and I were… you know." He motioned awkwardly with his hands.

"Did he now?"

Slide.

Romano blushed, swallowing thickly and turning his head away.

"Tell me, Lovino Vargas."

Slide.

"Would it really be _that_ bad-"

Slide.

"-if you and I-"

Slide.

"-_were, _in fact…" Spain made the same awkward hand motion as Romano, successfully indicating what he was trying to say.

Romano's blush intensified as he seemed to suddenly notice how close the two were. "Wh-What are you-"

His protests were cut short as long, cool fingers ran along his jaw line, slowly turning his head back up towards the taller man who was now practically straddling him to the table.

"The fuck? Get off!" He began to struggle, squirming under the other.

"Hmm~ Oh, but you didn't seem to have a problem with any of this last night," Spain purred, leaning in so his hot breath ghosted over Lovino's neck.

"Wha-What are you-"

Lovino felt the vibrations in the other's chest as he chuckled softly. "When I kissed you."

"…"

His struggles came to an abrupt stop as he froze, rigid against the other.

_Oh shit._

"Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingaboutIwasasleepthew holetime."

"Of course you were." Antonio grinned; taking advantage of the other's halted struggles

by carefully bracing both arms on either side of the Italian's slender waist, moving them in closer as he spoke. "In the car, that is," he continued. "but by the time I got you up the stairs and into the bed, despite my best efforts, I'm pretty sure it had woken you, no?" he snickered, smiling against the exposed skin on Romano's neck. "Oh, but you were tricky, though. Tried to fool me, didn't you?" he breathed, ghosting his lips over the other's skin. "But still, you didn't seem to mind it at all then. So why now?"

And suddenly two strong arms were at his sides, and Lovino gasped audibly as the wound their way around his waist, pulling him forward from behind and into the toned, broad chest of the Spaniard now pressed flush against him.

_The bastard had known. He had known I was awake and he'd kissed me anyways._

Suddenly, he legs felt like jell-o beneath him, his throat dry and parched, his heart beating a hundred miles an hour.

He could still feel – could still _taste – _the way Antonio's lips had moved against his last night in the dark.

He snapped himself out of the dazed memory only when the hot, moist breath from before had returned to his ear, whispering in a low, breathy tone, "So tell me, Lovino… Would it really be _so_bad?"

"I…" Romano shuddered into the touch, immediately losing all sense of self as pleasant shivers shot down his spine and he struggled for words he would normally never admit. "…N-No.. I g-guess not..."

Antonio traced his fingers trailed slowly down Loivno's jaw line, loving the way he leaned into the touch, his breath hitching as he did. Taking his chin, he tilted the boy's head up, meeting his half-lidded hazel eyes with an intense, lust-filled stare.

Slowly, caressing his cheek as we went, Antonio's hand begun making it's way to the back of the Italian's head, tangling itself into wavy auburn locks and pulling the boy impossibly closer, while the other wandering hand moved slowly up and down his thin sides, causing the boy to shiver at the soft touch.

He leaned it, pressing their foreheads together and watching intently for any signs of protest.

"Is this okay?" he breathed, faces hovering mere millimeters away from each other.

Lips parted, breaths coming in fast and shallow, Lovino could barely nod.

Spain wasted no time from there, he took another step forwards, pushing a leg in-between Lovino's and tapping the Italian between himself and the table. Both hands moved to support his lower back as Spain slowly grinded their hips together.

Coherent thoughts had long since become impossibility for Romano.

Fisting his hand into the material on the front of Spain's shirt, the Italian pulled himself further against him, head tilted up.

Lips met in a wild, opened mouthed battle, tongues becoming a factor immediately.

A glass shattered against the floor.

Eyes wide, Romano pulled back with a shout of surprise, flopping back and smacking his head against the glass table top while his legs still dangled over the side, trapped between Spain's.

Antonio's head snapped up at the sound, stumbling backwards in his surprise.

On the table, Lovino arched his back, twisting his head around to see what had happened to cause the noise.

His brain couldn't quite process it.

Ludwig stood stock-still, the patio door he'd just stepped through still open wide behind him, eyes wide in pure shock and face flushed bright red. Once hand was still outstretched before him as if holding the glass that had shattered against the stone at his feet.

What followed, was silence, no one quite sure what to do with themselves just yet.

Long.

_Awkward._

Silence.

"…"

"…"

"…"

Finally, Germany cleared his throat. "I… uh… I do apologize. I will return… at a later time." Shooting Spain an extremely apologetic look, he stepped backwards, disappearing quickly and once again leaving the two men alone.

"…"

Running a hand through the back of his hair, Spain gave a small awkward laugh which faded quickly at seeing Lovino, still sprawled out across the table, looking absolutely shell-shocked and panting heavily as his brain still tried and failed to process what had just happened.

"Lovi?"

Nothing. Not even a sign that he'd heard him.

"Lovino?"

He took a step forwards, taking the wide-eyed Italian by the arms and practically peeling him off the table.

"Romano?"

"…Eh?"

"I think it's time to go."

"…Uh huh," came the weak reply.

~{x[xXx]x}~

Their late drive through the clouds of darkness passed in silence, both men too preoccupied with their own thoughts to even attempt conversation

Antonio was having a hard enough time trying to keep his eyes on the road, as he kept going over and over the events of his short-lived moment of his glory in his mind. Over and over and over. The sounds Lovino had made, the way his breathing had hitched, the way his eyes had glassed over, the way he had tasted, even if for only a moment. Over and over and over.

Lovino, on the other hand, was having a hard enough time trying not to die from the heat caused by the deep blush that covered most of his body. His thoughts were more or less like this;  
><em><br>He kissed me. The asshole actually kissed me. No, he more than kissed me; he was putting __**the moves **__on me! And I was letting him! Jesus fuck, what's wrong with me? I mean, I let him kiss me. He actually kissed me. And not like last night either, this was different. This was… this was…_

Holy shit, he kissed me!

"-ano. We're here."

"Huh?" Romano jumped with a start, snapping himself out of his embarrassing thoughts.

"Your house. We're here."

"O-Oh, right."

And indeed they were, the car's headlights were off, the ignition long since silent, sitting in the dark in the long dirt driveway leading up to the Italian's house.

Climbing out of the car, Romano stumbled his way through the dark up the front steps.

"Lovi!" he heard Antonio's voice call out from behind him.

"Huh?"

Having already opened the trunk, he tossed the set of keys through the air towards the Italian. "Here, you let yourself in. I'm getting your present, okay?"

"Ah, sure." he caught the keys. "I guess I'll be, um, s-sitting in the living room, then," he called back awkwardly.

Presents. Thinking about presents would be a good way to take his mind off of what had just happened. Besides, Spain didn't seem awkward or weirded out, which was weird on its own. Hell, they guy was acting as though nothing had even happened.

Lovino wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing…

Dragging himself into the living room, Romano flickered on the light, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust before flopping down on the sofa. A quick glance to the antique grandfather clock against the far wall told him it was 1:23AM.

Fuck. That was one long, idiot filled day.

From a couple of rooms over, he heard the front door open and close, followed by the loud footsteps, carrying something heavy towards the living room.

"Okay, I'm bringing it in now. But you have to close your eyes first."

"Alright, alright." he pushed himself up so he was sitting instead of laying down, closing his eyes as promised and tapping his foot impatiently.

"They closed?"

"Yes."

Romano sat in the dark, listening intently to the sounds of Antonio's feet scuffled against the carpet around him. He heard something clink against the far wall, as if he were leaning something up against it.

"Okay." he finally said, as Lovino felt the cushion beside him dipping down underneath the other's weight.

"Okay?" Romano repeated, just to be sure.

"Yes, you can open your eyes now."

Hazel eyes blinked open right away, widening even more at the sight before him as Romano have a small gasp.

Across the room, leaned up carefully against the wall, was a huge multicolored glass rectangle.

"Whoa."

Spain smiled, "You like it?"

"It's… It's actually beautiful." he stood slowly, walking towards it. "You made this?"

From behind, Antonio followed him. "The design, yes. The actual stained-glass, no."

Approaching his new gift, Lovino reached out, running gentle fingers across the top of the glass sheet's frame.

The picture itself had to be the most complex, detailed thing he'd ever seen on a stained-glass window. Every bit, every different colored piece, was molded together expertly, forming the whole of the beautiful artwork before him. It was a top down view, almost like a helicopter shot, of a huge field of vineyards spread out over endless rolling hills. In the distance, a small hut's windows glowed in the low-light of a setting sun, which cast long shadows across the scene from the tall Elms it was disappearing behind. Light smoke drifted from the hut's chimney, mixing into the evening's bleeding red sky. The whole picture had a slightly reddish tinge to it from the gorgeous sunset almost hidden behind the Italian's national trees.

All around the hut, spreading all the way out to the tips of the vineyards, were fields of wild flowers, a colorful, chaotic yet somehow calming mix between Roses, White Poppies and Violets, the national, religious and favorite flowers of the country of Italy.

And finally, framed between the edge of the fields, the lines of distant hills and the tall trees near the edge of the picture, Romano could see the outline of his country, the classic boot-like shape that formed his heart and soul.

He was truly speechless.

Watching his reaction with an eager, almost nervous grin, Antonio walked past him making for the steps and stopping once he was half-way up. Turning back to this still awe-struck art-loving Italian below him, he spoke, "And I was thinking," he began. "That it could go right about here." he turned again, gazing up the wall.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the gift, Lovino followed the Spaniard's gaze with his own, already knowing what it would find.

That damned window.

That ugly old cracked one that had taunted him for years from it's position at the top of the lofty room.

"So what do you think?" Antonio asked, now descending the steps to once again rejoining Lovino, who was still standing with his fingertips unconsciously tracing over the tiny lines of extremely detailed window.

"Um," he finally managed. "I r-really like that idea."

Antonio's smile widened. "I thought you might."

And then, a miracle happened.

Romano hugged him

Romano. Hugged. Him.

Without any promoting, without him having to make the first move, the Italian just turned, and hugged him, wrapping thin arms around his back and pulling him close as he buried his face in the crook in-between Antonio's neck and shoulder.

Antonio wasted no time in returning it, not trying anything, not saying a single word, just standing there and hugging the boy with everything he had.

"Thank you." Lovino whispered, voice muffled against his skin.

"I love you too, Lovi."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Haha, and they never even got their hot make-out scene or anything :P<br>Once again, thank you to MelancholyMadeness for saving this fic's life. She actually sent it to me quite a few days ago, but I wanted to go back over it and edit all the crappy parts before I re-posted it. That in itself should have only taken like, a day, but I was in the hospital one day and too drugged up to actually do anything the day I got out, so I've only just gotten around to this now. Bleh.**

**Anywhoo~ feel free to review and tell me what you think. Also, tell me who you thought was in the bedroom with Alfred? *Waggles eyebrows***

**Thanks again!**


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